


cypress

by rainyskiesatdawn



Series: RQG Soulmates [2]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Gen, again very abstract!, major spoilers for rome and on!!!, this one is for you my dear goblin boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22250743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainyskiesatdawn/pseuds/rainyskiesatdawn
Summary: she’s fairly certain he’s the best of them all.edit: this fic now has ART oh my gosh: https://areyouokaypanda.tumblr.com/post/190348142260/i-read-this-excellent-fic-a-few-days-ago-and-was
Relationships: Grizzop and everyone
Series: RQG Soulmates [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600732
Comments: 11
Kudos: 89





	cypress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caeliulpis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caeliulpis/gifts).



> lol remember when i thought this wouldn't update for a while.  
> dedicated to caeliulpus for letting me rambling and putting terrible and painful ideas in my head that I then wrote down. here's your boy <3

for Bertie, Grizzop is the palest yellow, the one on the horizon at the hint of sunrise, the change from the quiet of night to the birdsong of the dawn.

Bertie never got a chance to see that color. He never woke up early if he could help it.

&

for Sasha, Grizzop is silver, one that makes her blades glint a little bit harsher, that makes his arrows seem that much sharper, that brings the world into a sudden, terrifying _focus_ at all the moments she longs to disconnect. The fading, the hiding, all seem to fail her in this new environment where everything gleams _bright_ and _angular_ and _wrong_ but in a way that makes her want to weep and sing and cry in a way she has never done, never even conceived--but that’s just how it is with Grizzop, the way he takes her and reshapes her into something worthy, something important, something to _see._

Sasha can’t see the glimmer in the world, not anymore. But as she sits up on the roof, overlooking what she has built for herself, she cannot help but think that doesn’t matter.

&

for Oscar, Grizzop is burgundy, the color of deep wine that has had fifty years to mature; so unlike Grizzop, who at ten is already running out of time, can so obviously hear the clock ticking--he moves like every second is worth something, as though a minute means the difference between success and failure. And with every drop of wine, every fancy overcoat, Oscar faces himself, a man who can only seem to _waste_ his life, who spends his moments wishing they were through. And so he spends and he spends until Grizzop finds him, collapsed in his own blood and exhaustion, and Grizzop, despite it all, despite _him,_ takes the time, his precious time, while his friends are in danger, and finds the help, and gets him what he needs, if only so Oscar can _keep going._

It doesn’t mean a thing that Oscar won’t take wine with his meals anymore. He’s always liked champagne better, anyway.

&

for Hamid, Grizzop is a reddish brown, something off-kilter, that never quite matches with _him,_ the way he’s all fire and Grizzop is the earth, the air, the sky, everything in between, how Hamid can struggle to take up a room but how Grizzop can just waltz right in, and _know_ with such a ferocity who he is, while Hamid struggles to reconcile his patch-worked soul with some version of him that has any idea of who he’s supposed to be. He doesn’t see the color often, only in small blips around that never fail to catch his eye with the way they seem-- _slighted,_ as though Hamid is the one in the wrong, as though Hamid is the odd one out in this strange equation.

The color is _everywhere_ in Rome. It coats the streets, the buildings, even the very air, somehow. The moment they step back out of the portal is when Hamid knows things have gone very, very wrong.

&

for Azu, Grizzop is amber, a rich, brilliant color that _dazzles,_ so much that her gaze is simultaneously drawn towards and away from its gleam. It’s stupendous, in-your-face, but that’s just Grizzop, isn’t it, Azu finds as they explore the streets of Cairo, as they traverse the underbelly of Damascus, as he _screams_ ‘hold tight and don’t let go.’ And Azu, despite herself, despite it all, smiles at this, the way he’s always looking after them, the way he cares in between the bluster, the way she’s fairly certain he’s the best of them all.

Better than Azu, anyway. He wasn’t the one who let go.

_She deserves this dull world._

.

.

.

Zolf doesn’t see the deep turquoise.

He could have.

But he doesn’t.


End file.
